


Aloha

by GwendolynGreene



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hawaii, Inappropriate Humor, Pretend to be my date, Sexual Humor, Wedding date, fake girlfriend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2018-11-21 05:15:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11350617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGreene/pseuds/GwendolynGreene
Summary: Claire needs someone to work a wedding booked last minute at the park and Owen is the only person who can do the job. He’ll help her on one condition – if she attends as his fake girlfriend to his friend’s wedding in Hawaii. She agrees only because she’s desperate and hopes like hell the weekend doesn’t turn into as much of a disaster as it seems. But surrounded by the lush landscape of the beautiful island and free booze, she discovers that there’s a lot more on the line for both of them than she ever could have thought.





	1. Chapter 1

_“You’re only doing this because you’re desperate.”_ Claire said to herself. _“Just don’t tell him that.”_

Claire clenched her fists on the hard curve of the steering wheel as she made the final turn on the dirt road. She could already see the smug look on Owen’s face – a painting of pure ‘I told you so’. It was three days ago that Owen heard about her problem – or rather, eavesdropped upon it. A very happy and very wealthy couple had booked one of their Jurassic Wedding packages just seven days in advance. The package was already ridiculously expensive and they paid generously for the short notice. One of the perks included in the package was a session with one of the park’s Animal Experts, someone who worked hands-on with the dinosaurs and knew all about them. The guy who normally did the gig wasn’t available and no one else was able to fill in. Owen had overheard her while she was explaining her predicament to Zara.

“I swear, I think I’ve tried everyone on this island.”

“You haven’t tried asking me.” Owen said from behind her. Claire turned, hiding her surprise.

“You? You’re not qualified to do this. You work exclusively with the one species not open to the public and don’t know anything about the others on the island.”

“Alright, alright, so you’ll owe me one. I’ll do it as a favor.” Owen smirked. Claire couldn’t help it- she scoffed.

“If I’m desperate enough to take you up on that, I’ll let you know.” Then, brushing past him, “Don’t call me, I’ll call you. That kind of thing.”

And now here she was. She brought the car to a stop in front of the shack Owen called a house and took a deep breath.

_Don’t let him know you’re desperate._

There was no sense waiting. With walls as thin as his, it was impossible not to hear her car pull up. Her heels clacked on the wooden steps. Another deep breath. A quick check to make sure her facial expression was neutral. She rapped twice on the door. It swung open almost immediately.

Exactly one-tenth of a second after Owen’s face appeared behind the open door, a grin spread across his face and he leaned, arms crossed, against the door frame. They stood there staring each other down for a few seconds.

“I’m desperate.” Claire relented. She threw her eyes to the side, finding a spot on the wall and staring at it instead. Owen let out a bark of a laugh. He marched past her and the momentary contact startled her. Owen strode down his front steps and went to grab one of the rags hanging on the clothesline.

“It’s alright, Red.”

“Don’t call me Red.”

“I’ve already figured out how you can repay me.”

“You’ll be compensated the regular hourly rate plus-” Claire faltered as a rag, tossed by Owen on the ground, hit her square in the face. “What was that for?”

“Thought you’d wanna get that mud off your leg.” Claire looked down. There actually was a spot of mud on her leg, just above her ankle. “Unless you want me to get it for you.”

“No! No. I can get it myself.” Claire bent at her knees, feeling Owen’s eyes on her, careful not to give him a view up her skirt. She quickly wiped up the mud, making sure it didn’t come in contact with her shoe. She dropped it over the railing into Owen’s waiting hand.

“Like I was saying, Red.”

“Don’t call me Red.”

“Don’t worry about compensation, Claire.”

“Don’t call me Claire.”

“I said I’d do it as a favour, _Ms. Dearing_ , and I’ll honour that. And I know how you can pay me back, too, so you don’t have to worry about owing me one.”

“What?” Clair groaned internally.

“You need help with a wedding? Well, you’re in luck. So do I. I’ve got a friend’s wedding coming up next weekend and I’ve already RSVP’d a plus one.” Owen crossed the yard and dropped the rag on top of a pile.

A smile tugged at the corner of Claire’s mouth. The proverbial ball was returning to her side of the court now.

“So you’re telling me that ladies’ man, Owen Grady, couldn’t scare up a date to a wedding?”

“Of course I could. And I did. But she bailed on me yesterday. What do you say, Dearing? I show up at your wedding this weekend and you show up at mine next weekend. Simple.” Owen planted his hands on his work bench, awaiting her response.

“Oh, please.”

“It’s in Hawaii…” He sang.

“Hawaii?” She cried. “I’m not going to Hawaii with you! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Come on! Everything’s already booked and paid for; all you gotta do is show up. Consider it like a free, all-expenses paid vacation.”

“So, what, you want me to pretend to be your date?”

“No. You’d be my actual date. I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“That’s it.” Claire stormed forward, intent on getting back in her car and dealing with the consequences of disappointing such a well-paying client herself.

“That’s it, you’ve heard enough, you’re in?” Owen asked, blocking off at the bottom of the stairs and holding out his hand for a handshake. She glared down at him.

“No.” She stated firmly.

“Come on, Dearing. I’m desperate.” Any hint of mischief left his eyes and there he was, holding his hand out and looking oddly venerable. It was a look on Owen Grady’s face that was entirely new and unsettling. “And, last I heard, so were you. Are you in or out?”

Owen lowered his hand, leaning against the railing with his forearm. From where she stood on the steps, she stood a good twelve inches taller than him and was looking down the bridge of her nose to meet his hopeful eyes. She was fully aware of the power she held.

She held onto it and savoured it for a moment longer.

“Five o’clock, Saturday; don’t be late.” She brushed past him, accidentally on purpose bumping him with her hip as she went.

The problem was, Owen was fantastic. She’d gone to personally supervise the Animal Expert session to make sure Owen didn’t fuck it up in some way, but Owen was like an entirely different person. He had a _presence_ in that room. He’d been supplied with figurines of some of the island’s most popular animals and throughout his session he used them to demonstrate key features of the animals. Whether offensive, defensive, or both, he had fun facts and tidbits about all of them. He even used them to make jokes, sending the entire room into a fit of laughter. He answered every single question the guests threw at him and more. He even supplied his own, unique view from being an animal trainer. At the end, when everybody wanted pictures, Owen was happy to oblige. He pulled silly faces with the kids and bared his teeth and some people even said he was the best part of the whole thing. He even wore a clean shirt to the event, which in itself was more than she was expecting of him. This wasn’t a session- it was a _show_.

Claire hated that she was impressed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Owen arrive in Hawaii, only to discover that simply checking into their hotel room offers them enough trouble before they even have to think about the wedding.

The cab rolled to a stop on the gleaming pavement in front of the resort. Claire slid her sunglasses down her nose, looking it over through the tinted windows of the taxi. Owen watched her, still regretting giving Claire the window seat on the plane since she’d spent the entire flight working on her laptop. Even when they were approaching the island and it was so close out the window they could nearly touch it, she barely glanced at it, while Owen tried to not lean over her too much to get a look at it all. She appeared to show little more enthusiasm to the island’s beauty now that it was right in front of her. The door opened and Claire stepped out, heading straight for the back of the cab where the driver was retrieving their luggage. Owen stepped out and soaked it all in. 

“Would you look at that?” Owen twisted his head this way and that, admiring the curves and angles of the architecture. The palm trees dotting the pathways. The sweet smell in the air.

“What, the swelteringly hot island packed with tourists?” Claire drawled. “Yes, what a refreshing change of scenery.”

“Oh, come on, Dearing! Don’t be so negative. This is gonna be great!” Owen exclaimed, squeezing his way through a pack of tourists to retrieve his own bag. Claire was checking her phone.

Shaking his head, he led the way into the main building of the resort. Two decorative palm trees curved over the wooden archway. The entry was lined with stone fountains, and fanned foliage provided a flowering backdrop. The light streaming in through the archways glittered off the rippling surface of the water. A woman in a long dress with flowers in her hair greeted them, placing a white lei over both of their heads. They thanked her before moving into the main lobby. Owen was busy examining the patterned tile floor.

“What did I tell you? This place is great.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just fantastic.” Claire responded. Her sarcasm brought his eyes back up, onto the line of sweaty bodies and impatient children waiting for the check-in desk. It was at least twenty travel parties deep and didn’t appear to be moving.

“Oh. Well, nothing we’re unfamiliar with, right Dearing?” Owen joked. Claire didn’t laugh. Owen hated how much he wanted to impress her. She merely scowled at him until he lost his grin. “Hey, play nice, okay? I don’t know who all the wedding guests are and we don’t want someone seeing us and spoiling the whole thing, alright?”

“Fine.”

Forty-five minutes later, Claire and Owen rolled up to the check in desk.

“Reservation number?” The clerk asked. Owen dug through his wallet. Claire glanced sideways at him and rolled her eyes.

“You couldn’t have done that already?”

“Sorry.” Owen fished his information out, handing it to the woman behind the desk.

“Credit card?” She asked. Owen produced that as well. “Mr. and Mrs.?” 

“No!” Claire almost shouted. “No. God no.”

“Just…” Owen tried to recover, patting Claire’s hand on the counter, “just my girlfriend.” Claire smiled, making on odd, high pitched sound. Her hand twitched but she didn’t move it from under his.

“Alright, so the gentleman and the lady have a deluxe room on the third floor with one King size bed.”

“What was that?” Claire leaned in, eyebrows high. Owen’s heart skipped a beat. How could he have forgotten? He’d made the reservation months ago, but he could’ve sworn he’d gone over all the details in his head to make sure none of it would offend Claire’s sensibilities. How could he have forgotten about the bed?

“Deluxe room on the third floor.” The woman stated plainly. Claire gaped at her and he could tell it was only moments before she said something that would spoil this whole thing.

“No, I think she meant- can we switch to a room with two beds? You know… for the extra space.” Owen waited as the woman quickly checked the computer and Claire stared him down.

“I’m sorry, we’re all booked up. I’m afraid there are no other rooms available.”

“Of course not.” Claire chimed.

“Sorry, Deari-” Owen caught himself. “ _Dear_. Sorry. I guess I forgot what room I reserved for us.”

“That’s alright, _sweetie_.” Claire crooned as she patted his arm. The gentle pats quickly turned more into slaps. Owen winced.

“So here’s your room keys, elevator is to your left, and all the information you need is in this packet.”

Owen grabbed the paperwork and jogged to catch up with Claire, who was trotting off towards the elevator. Somehow they managed to get into an empty car alone. Claire stood still in her corner, rolling luggage perched square in front of her feet. Her scowl was hard to miss and the silence only worked to amplify the flames she seemed to be fuming at that moment.

“I’m sorry.” Owen explained. “I forgot what the reservation was for. What floor are we on again?”

“I don’t know.” Claire checked her room key and punched the number three button. “As if you didn’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did that on purpose.”

“Oh, come on. Is that really what you think of me?”

“I don’t know what I think of you right now and I don’t think you want to know.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated.

“Just stop talking.”

Another couple got on the elevator on the second floor and they waited in tense silence to reach the third floor. When the doors opened again, Claire led the way out. They stood looking at the sign indicating which room numbers were which in direction and had to check their room keys again.

Once they got to their room they both stopped and looked at the bed. Claire went straight for the far side of the bed and put her luggage on the folding rack. Owen put his bag on the foot of the bed just to free his hands. He ran his hand through his hair as he surveyed the carpet.

“I guess I can sleep on the floor. We could ask for a cot, but I think that might raise some questions…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a big girl. I can deal with this.” Claire snapped. “Besides, we both know if you try anything you’re losing a hand. You’re smarter than that.”

“Thanks?” Owen looked around the room. For something that was called a ‘Deluxe’ room and cost an arm and a leg for two nights, it sure didn’t look it. He couldn’t tell which was the bathroom and which was the closet door, as neither appeared to have much space in behind them. Working his way over to them would force him to squeeze by the desk, which for some reason had a medium-sized armchair sitting in front of it that sat far too low to be effective at anything. The A/C unit sounded like it was pulling double duty as a motorcycle engine. Maybe Claire was right. The place was packed, he fucked up with the hotel room, he’d pissed off his fake girlfriend one hour in, and she wasn’t even enjoying the island. He’d blown any shot he had at impressing her.

“Woah.”

Owen turned and saw Claire standing at the sliding glass door that led onto the balcony. Gently, she slid it open and stepped out. The breeze hit her and the hair that always fell perfectly above her shoulders fluttered. She didn’t bother putting her sunglasses back on. Owen joined her and made to leave enough space in between them. Below them, the pool and recreation area led onto the beach, transitioning seamlessly into white sand. A few covered bars were scattered around and their balcony looked straight onto the water. The green mountains of another island could be seen on the horizon. People milled all about, lounging on beach chairs and under umbrellas. People migrated around the swim-up bars and the regular bars and even slept in hammocks. Finally, after everything, Claire finally looked impressed. Maybe he still had a shot after all.

“Well, I’m glad you’re impressed.” Owen said after a moment, letting her soak it all in.

“Impressed? Who said I was impressed?” Claire dismissed, turning away from the view and approaching her suitcase. With one final look over the railing he joined her back in the room to unpack.

“Alright, fine. Rehearsal’s at six. We should probably head there together.” Claire gave a murmur to confirm she’d heard him, and then went into the bathroom to change into a bathing suit. They had a few hours to kill before they had to leave, and Owen hoped desperately Claire could act- because as it stood now, not a single soul would believe they were a couple.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's not entirely sure she'll be able to pull this whole fake-girlfriend thing off, but it's time to get ready for the rehearsal dinner and she doesn't have much time to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws the next chapter into the void, hoping it will suffice to satiate the Readers after going so long without updates*

Claire was going to have a good time, God Damn It, even if she had to get far away from Owen to do it. Now that she’d managed to find a mostly shaded spot on the edge of the pool, her legs swinging lazily through the clear water, she was actually starting to enjoy it. There was just enough of a breeze in the air and she could smell something sweet nearby…the feel of the smooth tile and the cool water on her skin…

Why did she have to come here in the first place? No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t shake the thought from her head. She already had a backlog of work when she’d left- it was only going to get worse while she was away. And she didn’t have heaps of faith that the staff members she left behind were capable of handling an emergency should one arise during her absence. She never should have come. And come, no less, to play pretend girlfriend to one of the most egotistical and pompous peacocks she knew.

But now she was here, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. To anyone else, this trip would be a dream. To her, she couldn’t help the feeling that it was going to be a nightmare.

A burst of raucous laughter from the nearby bar caught her attention, and she saw a group of men with beers in hand and abs on display talking amongst themselves. She was surprised by the amount of muscles that were on display on the beach. The one gratuity she’d managed to grant herself despite the inner torment was to admire them as long as she wanted form behind the security of her sunglasses. The entire group of men at the bar-a quick count said seven heads-had ripped abs and toned arms. But they were skinny and pale, and much too loud and tipsy for her liking. They screamed “tourist”.

A shadow passed by on the water in front of her, and she looked over her shoulder to see a man pass by who’d chosen to put his sculpted legs on display with his choice of a tight black Speedo. She was disappointed by the upper half, though, and the bright orange Frisbee in hand bearing the hotel’s name.

And then there was a figure exiting the surf ahead of her, water droplets cascading down his large frame. His entire body was toned and tanned. His chest, his abs, his legs, and most definitely his arms seemed to be pure muscle as he stretched up to wipe his wet hair from his eyes. It was a sight she would’ve only expected of a bodybuilder. This man undoubtedly looked like he belonged here. She found her teeth burrowing into her lower lip, giving the man a long once-over as he effortlessly flipped his hair from his face.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

Of course that one would be Owen. She straightened instantly, dropping the smile from her face and closing her mouth. As he approached nearer to the pools, she prayed that he wouldn’t see her as he passed. But with each step forward he only seemed to look blankly ahead, and he never even looked her way.

How did Owen Grady make looking so mouth-wateringly _hot_ look so effortless?

It struck her that she’d never seen Owen shirtless. That didn’t surprise her once the thought settled in her mind, since they’d only ever interacted at work, but the thought was there nonetheless. A part of her expected the man to look good, but not this good. He worked a physical job, he was in the Navy, she knew that it wasn’t fat that was filling out those tight shirts of his. It was unfair. If those abs had been attached to anyone other than Owen Grady…

She turned as he passed her, eyes locking onto the way his wet trunks clung to his body, and mad at herself for thinking his ass was just as good as the rest of the package. She turned away again, letting him slip away into the crowd while she tried to gather her composure.

What did he expect of her this weekend? Weddings were romantic affairs simply by nature, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure she could keep up an act like that. It had been a while since she’d been in any sort of relationship, real or fake. And given how flat and lifeless those relationships had felt…did she even want to try to replicate them?

If she couldn’t make things work when it really counted, who said she could make it work now?

Claire sighed. Even the beautiful hotel grounds weren’t doing anything to calm the anxious thoughts churning through her. But by the time she’d gotten back to the hotel room, Owen wasn’t there. He must have slipped off to some other part of the resort while Claire wasn’t watching. She tried not to let it bother her, given how close they were to the start of the rehearsal, and immediately went for a shower.

She was dressed and nearly ready by the time Owen got back. He was dry by then but still shirtless. She watched him surreptitiously from the mirror where she was pinning up her hair.

“So, don’t you have something to tell me?” Claire asked. He seemed surprised by her voice and looked over to her, pulling himself out of a thought.

“What?”

“Well, I think if I were your girlfriend you would have told me some things, like who’s actually getting married.”

“Oh.” Owen’s shoulders fell back and his face relaxed. “Well, it’s my friend Tom. Tom Pickering.” Owen said, glancing between his duffel bag and Claire’s mirror. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. I haven’t seen him since I joined the Navy, but he’s lived here all his life.”  
It took a moment for the pieces to line up in Claire’s head.

“Wait, you grew up here?”

“Well, not _here_ here. Not on this island.”

“But you grew up in Hawaii? I never knew that.”

“Yeah. I was born in Colorado but my parents moved here when I was two. It’s the only place I know as home.”

Claire nodded, picking up another hair pin. “Interesting. And the bride?”

“Lindsey Marshall. I don’t know her but they met through mutual friends. She’s from Texas. Moved here for her job about two years ago. My parents seem to like her.” Claire put a bobby pin between her teeth, pulling the last strand of hair away. She pinned it in and made sure it wouldn’t fall out. “You’ll meet them later tonight.”

Claire turned slowly. “Your…parents?”

“Well, yeah, everybody.”

“I’m meeting…your parents?”

“Yeah.” Owen straightened, looking Claire in the eye. Big mistake.

“You never said anything about me having to _lie_ to your _parents_.” Claire emphasised. “Are there any other little tidbits of information I should know about? Any siblings, ex-wives, estranged children?”

“No siblings, no wives, no children. Come on, Dearing, everything’s going to be fine.”

Claire turned back to the mirror, breathing deep.

“So you say. Aren’t your parents going to be expecting this ex-girlfriend of yours? Don’t they know who she is?”

“They never met. They don’t even know her name.” Owen mumbled. Claire paused, watching his reflection rub the back of his head uncomfortably. He began to pull items of clothing from his duffel bag without really looking at them. Claire pondered. Whoever this girl was, she had clearly meant something to Owen.

“How long have we supposedly been dating?”

“Couple of months,” Owen said. So, no simple fling then. But no serious relationship either. Still, Owen looked at least a little bit broken up over it.

“And how did we meet?”

“However you want. Probably easiest if we say it was through work.”

Claire’s fake relationship portfolio was nearly complete, but there was still one thing nagging on her mind. “Why’s this so important, anyway? You could have just told them you two broke up.”

“It- it’s not that easy.” Owen sighed. “My parents, they- they were really excited when they heard I was bringing someone. They tend to obsess over my personal life. Mom’s going to ask you a whole bunch of personal questions, by the way. You can lie if you want but keep it consistent, okay?” He dropped the few things he was absentmindedly holding and looked out the window. “When I was away with the Navy they worried a lot. Thought I might not be coming home. Then I started work on the island and they worried about that. Worried I wouldn’t come home to visit. I don’t think they realize just what it is I do for work. And now they worry that I’m not going to _‘find someone’_.”

Owen dropped the air quotes and looked down into his bag.

“And you didn’t want to disappoint them.”

“Yeah.” Owen met Claire’s eyes in the mirror. She cleared her throat.

“Alright, we met a couple of months ago through work. Shouldn’t be that hard.”

Owen nodded, taking some of the items from his bag and heading into the washroom. A couple of minutes of the sound of running water later, Owen emerged with his hair still damp but fully dressed. Claire rose from her seat at the vanity mirror, straightening the semi-formal dress she’d chosen for the night. Her eyes landed on Owen’s attire.

“What are those?”

Owen’s eyes moved down to where Claire’s were, confused why she had to ask.

“Board shorts.”

“You’re wearing board shorts to a wedding?”

“It’s not a wedding, it’s a rehearsal. It’s fine.” Owen dismissed. “Are you ready to go?”

Claire rolled her eyes but grabbed her purse and they departed their room for the lobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *is still working on next chapter and has no idea when it will be finished*
> 
> *hopes the Readers aren't as hungry or impatient as sharks*
> 
> Thanks for reading! And for sticking with me. Updates are coming soon.
> 
> Don't ask me when.
> 
> Believe me, I'd love to know.
> 
> -GG


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rehearsal Party kicks off and Claire's just hoping nothing goes terribly wrong. Owen thinks he may need more tequila to get through this weekend. (Rehearsal Party part 1)

The dining room was already full of people, all awaiting the return of the couple and wedding parties from their official rehearsal of tomorrow’s ceremony. What had apparently been planned here, for the rest of the wedding guests who arrived the day before, was a Rehearsal Party; a kind of ice breaker, get-to-know-you kind of mixer for the two sides. Once the happy couple and each wedding party were done with the actual rehearsal they would join them for a “fun night full of food and well-wishes!” (Or so said the sign welcoming them at the entrance.)

Owen had found them an empty table near the front of the room, away from the dance floor and close to the bar. He’d pulled her chair out for her and everything- as if he was a bonafide gentleman out with his lady at dinner. It acted as a nice reminder of her the role she had to play, since being romantic wasn’t exactly high on her list. No one had approached them yet, or even paid much attention to their arrival, so for the time being, Claire could still breathe.

Owen, on his part, didn’t exactly look cool as a cucumber. His eyes kept darting around the room, glancing over and around heads nervously watching for something. For someone who normally looked like a house fire wouldn’t bother him, it was odd. But more importantly, it made Claire wonder.

“Can I ask you something?” Owen turned at her question. “If you were such good friends with the groom, why aren’t you one of the groomsmen?”

“Uh,” Owen looked at her, his eyes finally picking a spot before they wandered off again. “Well, he did ask me. At first. But then he really got into planning things and…well, I couldn’t come for anything other than this weekend. I couldn’t help with anything that the guys usually do. It just didn’t work out.”

“You mean the stag party?”

“Well, yeah. But more than that. Matching tuxes. Shopping for those. Writing speeches. Helping with planning.” Owen looked across the table at the empty chairs. Claire _hummed_ understanding but refrained from mentioning how all of those things could technically have been done long-distance. “Besides, most of the groomsmen are friends he’s made since I left. I wouldn’t know any of the other guys.”

“You could’ve gotten to know them.” Claire watched the side of his face as he gave his own _hmm_. “Did you want to be in the groom’s party?”

Owen looked at her quickly before turning away again. “Well, I mean, a little. But I got over it. Being here and seeing him again is enough.”

Just then, the main doors swung open and the wedding parties streamed into the dining room. Everyone stood and began to clap and Claire joined them. People surged forward to hug or kiss the couple on the cheek, to offer encouragement and greetings as they joined the throng. Owen stepped forward, waving his hand in the air to try to get the groom’s attention. Over the thick crowd, it was pointless.

Finally the parties sat at their tables and the couple took up the microphone on the makeshift stage to thank everyone for joining them. Owen came back to join her at the table, running a hand over his beard. He gestured quietly for her to sit again and he pushed her chair back in for her.

The soon-to-be couple thanked everyone and bid them a fun night, and the waiters with the trays of appetizers came out to make another round of the room. Owen kept his eyes on the move, though, and only briefly paused to take more appetizers for him and Claire. She looked around the room and couldn’t help but see a room full of strange faces. It felt odd, in a way she didn’t expect, to be surrounded by people who had no idea who she was. None of them thought of her as the mean Boss Lady who nagged them about deadlines, or the switchboard for every miniscule problem that occurred around her. The only person who knew her, or expected anything of her, was Owen. And tonight she was his pretend girlfriend. She wasn’t even playing herself. She could be anyone she wanted and no one would stop her. The thought terrified her just as much as it intrigued her.

As the couple made the final stretch of the room nearest their table, Owen stood and whistled though his fingers, but of the few head s that turned at the noise Tom wasn’t one of them. Someone did seem to notice him, however, and he immediately bent down to Claire to apologize. She hesitated, unsure what he meant. But before he could say anything more, he was standing back up and greeting an older woman with brown hair in a large flowery dress.

“Owen! You’re finally here!” The woman squealed, wrapping her thick arms around him. “You didn’t tell me when you checked in! I was expecting your call!”

“Sorry, Mom.”

 _Mom_. The word sent her blood vessels pumping, a swift kick in the pants to get her brain firing on overdrive. _This is it. Time to play your part._

“Oh, I bet you were too _busy_ with other things anyway! Is this her? The girl you’ve refused to tell me anything about?” Mrs. Grady turned to Claire, extending her arms to ask for a hug. Claire rose to her feet, painting on a smile and hugging the woman. She had a strong grip. “So, then, tell me your name! Tell me everything about you!”

“Claire.” She smiled, extending a hand for the woman to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Claire!” Mrs. Grady grabbed her face, pulling her in and kissing both of her cheeks and slapping them with pats afterward. “I like you already. My Owen picked a good one.” She peppered her son with kisses once more, then took a seat at the table beside Claire’s empty chair. As the party settled around her, she was caught as the last one standing and hastily plunked back down into her seat. For the moment the rest of the table was still empty. Since there was no formal seating plan, friends and family were mingling together and no one else had come up to greet Owen. “He hasn’t always had such luck. I remember his first girlfriend. Got a car for her sixteenth birthday, drove it around all the time. They were together, off and on, for over two years. But they never seemed to talk. Lord knows what they were doing in that car of hers...”

“Ma, you gotta stop.”

“Oh, hush. There are much worse stories I could tell. Like that time we were camping…”

“Ma!”

“We found him alone, in the tent. That’s all I’m going to say.” Mrs. Grady finished with a smug look, placing her hands neatly on her lap. Claire sputtered, the laugh choking her unexpectedly. Owen turned away, deciding if he ignored what his mother was saying, then he could pretend it wasn’t happening. Fortunately for Claire, his mother wasn’t done. Not even close. There was something about the woman’s eyes, in the cool blue irises staring back at her that said this woman was full of secrets and willing to share. “So, Claire tell me something about yourself!”

“Oh!” Claire started, wheels turning in her head to come up with something. Would she lie? Say something that would suggest she were a better match to Owen? Like, _‘Oh, I collect vintage motorcycles?’_ or maybe something that sounded more exciting, like _'Oh, I freestyle rock climb in my spare time?’_ Or maybe she were better suited for simply telling the truth, like _‘Oh, I grew up in a small town in Wisconsin?’_ or the slightly more boring _‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to learn how to bake?’_ She had only a moment to decide who she wanted to be. “Oh, I…I really… don’t know what to say…”

“Well, how about a little ice breaker, then? My name is Patricia Grady, and I am the _unfortunate_ mother of a son who insisted on wearing-”

“Mom, for God’s sake…”

“-Wearing his underwear on the _outside_ of his pants for his Sixth grade class photo because he wanted to _‘be like Superman’_.” Owen shook his head, and if she wasn’t mistaken, actually began to _blush_. Claire burst into laughter. “And believe you me, it wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if he’d put it on right side out…”

Claire pressed her laughter into her hand, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing nearly as much as she thought they were. Oh, the sheer amount of dirt she could get on him this weekend… It was only when she noticed how people from other tables were glancing over in her direction that she tried to tone it down.

“Oh, yeah. Laugh it up.” Owen grumbled. 

“You know what?” Claire looked back at Mrs. Grady. “You’re absolutely lovely. I don’t understand how someone like you could have raised Mr. People Person over here.” Claire said, pointing over her shoulder to Owen, who was attempting to slide down into his seat.

Mrs. Grady opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the approach of a stern looking grey haired man who sat himself silently in the chair beside her. He had a thick moustache and pointed eyes that fell right onto Owen. Like a switch had been flipped, in a flash Owen was sitting straight in his chair with his hands folded neatly in his lap. The older man nodded.

“Son.”

“Dad.”

Claire looked between the two, waiting for one of them to say something else. But the greeting, apparently, was over. Neither man said anything more. She turned to Mrs. Grady again. “Nevermind. I get it.”

“This is her?” Mr. Grady asked.

“Claire, this is my father.” Owen gestured between them. “George, Claire. Claire, George.”

“Sir.” Claire took the queue of their previous formality. She extended her hand but the man didn’t take it so she returned it to her lap. A waiter passed by with a tray of strange-looking fruit on skewers. Mrs. Grady stopped him, loading up everyone’s plates, especially Claire’s, with food. The woman explained to Claire what some of the more exotic fruits were, since Claire had never seen them before, much less eaten them. She decided to at least try all of them and was halfway through a particularly sharp-tasting one when Mrs. Grady turned to her again.

“So, Claire, I hope my son welcomed you properly to Hawaii. Put that hotel room of yours to good use!”

Claire nearly choked on the fruit. “What?”

“Oh, come now. A resort as romantic as this one, surely you two _christened_ the bed.” She added. She looked aghast at Claire’s continued sputtering. “You are sharing a bed, are you not?”

“Patricia, cut it out.” Mr. Grady ordered. Reluctantly, she settled back into her chair and seemed to drop the subject. Claire settled her cough and picked at the few starfruit that now decorated her plate.

“So, Claire. How did you two meet?”

Claire, thankful for an ordinary question, swallowed her mouthful to answer. “We met at work, actually. I work in administration at Jurassic World.” It wasn’t a lie, per se. At this point, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to come up with a believable story in the first place. She just didn’t feel comfortable giving the woman her full title.

“Oh, so you work on top of Owen. Well, I hope you don’t work _on top_ of Owen.”

“Oh God.” Claire muttered.

“But you know what I mean. You’re above him. I’m not surprised my Owen likes a powerful woman. He’s just like his father. Helps to keep things alive, in the later years. George and I know plenty about that.”

“Oh God.”

“Patricia.” Mr. Grady stared his wife down. “I’m going to get something to drink. How about you lay off the girl for now. Owen, what’ll you have?”

Owen, instead of responding, stood and followed his father to the bar two tables away. He ordered tequila shots for both him and his “date”. They must’ve been gone only a couple of minutes before they returned to the table to catch Claire, face red enough to rival her hair, trying very hard not to look at Mrs. Grady.

“All I wanna know is, is it still curved like this,” she gestured with a ripe, yellow banana she held in her hand, “Or is it more like this?” She grabbed a long, straighter vegetable from the centrepiece for contrast.

“Oh God!” Claire hid behind her hands as Owen and his father convinced the woman to leave her props behind and let the couple talk privately. Owen plunked back down into his seat after his parents wandered off, depositing one of the shots in front of Claire.

“I am never eating a banana again.” Claire declared. She pointed to the shot glass. “What’s this?”

“It’s tequila. Wasn’t sure what you were drinking.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Really? After that?” Owen gestured to his mother.

“I’m on a diet.” Claire insisted, coming out from behind her hands. She picked up the shot glass and moved it away from her.

“Fine. More for me.” Owen downed his own shot before moving to Claire’s. He watched as she tried to lessen the flush in her face. “I did warn you.”

Claire groaned. She reached behind her, into her purse, to retrieve one of the pamphlets she’d nabbed at the door. She opened it up to check how much longer the party would be going on for.

“What’s that?”

“Itinerary. For the weekend. I need to know how much longer I’m going to have to risk talking to your mother.”

“Come on, Dearing. You can’t operate on a schedule.”

“I think the people planning this wedding would say otherwise.” Claire flashed the pamphlet at him to prove her point. Laid out neatly in bullet point form was a chronological list of all the weekend’s planned events.

“I mean, you’re supposed to be having fun.”

“This is how I have fun.” Claire examined the itinerary before her. “So the party is scheduled until ten, but it will probably run a little longer. We should be in bed by eleven at the latest so we can be up by eight to get ready, ten to assemble for the ceremony…should be over by noon, then we have a couple of hours to kill before the reception starts at four o’clock sharp.” Claire looked down at her watch. “Our plane out is at ten thirty the next day, which gives us…a little more than forty hours until we can get out of here.”

Owen eyed her curiously. “I don’t think you know what fun is.” He said. He looked over his shoulder to see where the Bride and Groom were, then turned back to Claire. “Come on, we’re doing something not on that itinerary of yours. I wanna go say Hi to Tom.”

Owen rose quickly, reaching for Claire’s hand, but she pulled back and rose on her own. She grabbed her bag with both hands as an excuse, and followed Owen as he stepped away from the table and into the fray of mingling guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Had to split up this scene, because the 2,500 words you're seeing here were initially just the beginning of what was supposed to be one chapter. There are at least 2 more chapter of the Rehearsal Party left to come.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -GG


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting the bride and groom, Owen and Claire get dragged into a party game - and Couple's Trivia could just be their undoing. (Rehearsal Party - Part 2)

The groom was surrounded by a throng of guests, giddy with emotions and wine from the bar. As Owen approached, Claire had to remind herself not to hang back too far. She was his date, after all. And this was his best friend. He was probably going to introduce her and she had to play her part.

With perfect timing, an opening appeared in front of Tom as Owen strode up, childish grin on his face and hand poised in a fist bump on his approach. Tom smiled back, even when his attempt at a handshake bumped awkwardly into Owen’s fist and the two men fumbled until they eventually pulled each other into a back-slapping man-hug.

“Tom, it’s been too long.”

“Owen! It’s great to see you. Your mother was such a help these last few months. I can’t thank her enough.” Tom said, checking back over his shoulder to see how his bride-to-be was doing. “I especially loved what she did with the flowers. And she was great to have around. Lindsey loves her.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great to see you too. Look, I was hoping you and I could catch up sometime.”

“I’m sorry, I’d love to, but my weekend is pretty much booked up, you know what I mean?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I get it. It’s your big weekend.”

“Thanks. And, hey, great to see you, too, Owen. Tell Patricia I said Hi!” Tom smiled, turning back around to mingle with the bride’s family.

Owen pulled back, running his hand through his hair. He remained rooted on the floor but the people around him shifted away, until there was a solid five foot radius of empty space around him. “Geez, it’s been years since I’ve seen the guy and he spends more time talking about my mother than he does saying hello.”

Claire took a step towards him. “He’s probably stressed, with everything going on.”

“He didn’t even ask about you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended.” Claire said dryly as a man slipped past her, wine glass teetering loosely in one hand. In the other was a woman significantly younger, with flowers in her hair and a dopey look on her face. It was only when she saw the pair begin to dance that she heard the music playing overhead, and they noticed the floor filling up with couples slow dancing along. Claire suddenly became very aware of her body language. Owen cleared his throat. His hand reached down, fingers slipping between hers. Claire tried her hardest not to jump at the contact. They were like that for a moment before she pulled her hand back.

“I don’t dance.” Claire stated, idly using her newly freed hand to sweep a piece of hair that didn’t exist behind her ear. The music lulled on, and every second that ticked by made Claire all the more uncomfortable. Owen chanced a look over to her. 

“It’s fine. I don’t’ either.”

Claire nodded, a fake smile stretching her lips. Before the unthinkable happened and they were somehow corralled onto the dance floor, they made a hasty exit back to the tables near the bar. Unfortunately, Owen’s parents were already seated on the bar stools and Claire watched Mrs. Grady’s face light up upon seeing her son’s approach.

“Owen, dear! Why aren’t you whisking your beautiful girlfriend across the dance floor? I thought I raised you better than that.”

“It’s fine, Ma. She doesn’t- we don’t want to dance.” Owen said, waving his mother down.

“I don’t dance. It’s alright, really.” Claire assured her. It was in that moment she thought maybe she should dance after all, just to get away from Owen’s parents.

“Are you sure, dear?” Mrs. Grady asked. Claire nodded with a little smile, taking up a seat one away from the woman. She still managed to reach over and put her hand on Claire’s knee to pat reassuringly. “Ooh, ooh! Here they are! You two should like this- party games! I helped Tom and Lindsey come up with these myself.” A woman came by them, passing out white cards. Mrs. Grady took some from the woman with a wide smile. “This one is couple’s trivia! Sounds like so much fun, doesn’t it?”

Couple’s trivia? Not exactly her definition of fun. In fact, Claire couldn’t think of a worse way to convince anyone they were anything more than resentful co-workers.

“No. No, I don’t think that’s something that we-”

“We’re just not-”

“It’s not really our thing-”

“Maybe next time.”

“Oh, come on, you two! It sounds like fun!” Mrs. Grady cheered as she handed out the cards. “George and I are doing it! You’ll love it!” She pushed one into Claire’s hands as she rose to her feet. “But we can’t fill these out together, that’ll be cheating! You two get going.” She nudged Claire forward with a slap to her butt back towards their table with Mr. Grady. Claire turned to look at Owen before mouthing _‘Shoot me now’_.

Mrs. Grady turned to her son after Claire had left with her husband.

“Owen, dear. How are you? I’m so glad we got to meet this Claire of yours. She’s a lovely lady.”

“Yeah, mom, that’s great. Shouldn’t we be filling these out?” Owen’s head pivoted around to look at the bar around him. “Don’t we need pens or something?”

“I can’t help but notice Claire’s acting a little _odd_. I know it’s not my place to say, but I hope you two aren’t having any problems, now are you? Certainly nothing I could have prodded earlier?”

“Mom, everything’s fine. That’s just how Claire is. We should really find some pens.”

“It’s just that I’m worried about you. You don’t usually go for women who are this, well- uptight.”

“Maybe a pencil?”

“She just doesn’t really seem happy to be here, is all I’m saying.”

Owen breathed deeply. “Just an…an ink well? With a…feather?” Owen kept looking, to no avail.

“Is something the matter with you two?”

Owen relented, stopping his search and looking at his mother. “Mom, please, really. It’s nothing. It’s just the travel. It- you know. Upsets her.” Owen tried to explain, making it up on the spot. “Internally.” He gestured towards his own stomach, which was currently in knots from the conversation with his mother, hoping desperately that she would take the hint and _drop it_.

“Oh! Oh.” She put a hand over her heart. “Oh, poor dear. But she’s alright?”

“Of course, Mom. Just don’t- don’t mention I said anything, okay? It’s embarrassing.” Owen said, voice low.

“Oh! Oh, of course.” She pecked Owen on the cheek again before producing a couple of pencils from somewhere hidden and handed one to Owen so they could fill out their cards.

The game was simple enough. On the cards were a series of questions about himself that Owen was instructed to write down the answers to. Claire would do the same on her own card, and then someone else would take their cards from them and quiz them on each other’s answers. They were scored not only on how many answers they knew about each other, but also how many they got right together.

Owen was sweating while he wracked his brain for every single detail he knew about Claire Dearing. As he filled out his card, thinking the questions were easy enough to answer about himself, he realized he knew almost nothing about his fake girlfriend. Even if Claire made something up, he would have no idea what she would write down.  
In other words, they were _screwed_.

His mother finished with a giggle and dragged him back to their table and instantly sat Owen down in a chair facing back-to-back with Claire so they couldn’t see each other. His mother took Owen’s card and sat herself next to Claire with a sympathetic little pat to the knee that Owen desperately hoped Claire wouldn’t overthink. His father took Claire’s card and moved to sit near Owen.

“Alright, Claire dear. Let’s start out with an easy one. What are the color of Owen’s eyes?” Patricia asked.

_That one wasn’t on the card!_

Claire hesitated. Her body tensed up. “Uh…” She looked over to the expectant faces of his parents, the people she was supposed to be fooling. Why Owen ever thought she could do this was beyond her. She didn’t know a thing about the man, or at least little more than she’d learned in the past day. They’d worked together for years, and yet she hadn’t even known his home state was Hawaii. But she’d agreed to do it, and she couldn’t back out now. There was too much on the line for Owen. Normally she wouldn’t have cared, expect for the fact that she had forty hours left, stuck in the same resort before she could safely get away from him. Besides, she figured it would be easier to play along at this point than to explain all of their lies. She couldn’t imagine the confusion in Mrs. Grady’s bright blue eyes if she told her the truth…or the stern look she’d get from Mr. Grady’s icy blue stare.

Wait.

Of course! All she had to do was play the odds. She couldn’t for the life of her remember what color her pretend boyfriend’s eyes were, but she sure as hell knew how genetics worked. “…Blue?”

“That’s correct!” Mrs. Grady beamed. Claire breathed a sigh of relief. “And Owen? What about Claire?”

“Green.” Owen answered, without hesitation. Claire paused, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Owen would know the color of her eyes.

“And her middle name?” Mr. Grady asked, looking down at Claire’s card for her answer.

Now it was Owen’s turn to hesitate. Mrs. Grady turned to her husband, lightly slapping him on the leg to get him to turn the card toward her so she could see the answer.

“I honestly have no idea.” Owen finally answered, chuckling lightly and running a hand through his hair.

Mrs. Grady asked Claire the same question, not even needing to look down at the card to know the answer. Claire had to get something right, and she knew the questions only got harder from here. So…she had to play the odds again. Owen’s father stared her down from over her shoulder. “George?” Claire answered.

“You got it!” Mrs. Grady said. “Look, Owen, she’s beating you already.”

“She’s not beating me, Ma. This is a team effort.” Owen said, checking over his shoulder.

“That’s right.” Claire said, hoping like hell they could get through this.

“Okay then, where was the first date?” Mrs. Grady asked.

“Uh…”

“Um.”

“It was this uh…little…” Claire stammered.

“Nice little place…” Owen tried to help her, but she gave up on trying to describe their fake first date.

“It was a restaurant.” Claire said plainly. She hoped Mrs. Grady wouldn’t push them for more details.

“Owen said ‘Steakhouse’.” Mr. Grady supplemented, looking at Owen’s answer card. _Phew_.

“Well, that’s close enough.” Mrs. Grady squirmed back into her seat. Then she giggled. “Who made the first move?”

“Oh, he did.” Claire said without taking pause. There was no doubt, if there ever existed a universe in which they were together Claire knew for a fact it was due to Owen making the first move, not her. Luckily, Owen felt the same and raised his hand cheekily. Mrs. Grady awarded them the point before moving on.

“So what’s his favourite season? Spring, Summer, Fall or Winter?”

Claire thought. The only thing that came to mind was the sight of Owen, shirtless, skin rich from the sun, dotted with sweat, not in the least bit slowed down by the intense heat of the island. The man seemed to live for the heat. “Summer.” Claire answered confidently.

“Nope! He answered Spring.”

Claire turned over her shoulder. “What? Why Spring?”

Owen shrugged. “Cause that’s when all the flowers start blooming.” 

Flowers? Owen liked the spring because of _flowers_? She didn’t have time enough in the world to contemplate his answer.

“And what season does Claire like, Owen?”

“Hmm…” Owen hummed. “Tax season.” Claire snorted, and his parents also broke out a laugh at his answer. “Nah, she likes the winter.”

“How did you-?” Claire whispered, trying to sneak it past his parents.

“Cause she grew up in Wisconsin, and she misses the snow at Christmas time.” Owen said for them all to hear. When on earth did she ever tell Owen _that_? And how, when she didn’t know where he grew up, did he know the one thing she missed the most about her home state? She hadn’t told anyone that in years.

“And what pet name do you use for him, Claire?” Mrs. Grady asked, pulling Claire out of her head.

“We-uh, we don’t use pet names.” Claire said, hoping to avoid the question all together, and knowing she’d left her own answer blank for this question.

“Oh, is that so, DEAR?” Owen said, earning a scowl from over Claire’s shoulder.

“It says here that she calls him _‘Honey Bunches of Owen’_.” Mr. Grady sniffed, cracking a tiny smile.

“Or Honey for short. “ Owen winked.

Mrs. Grady giggled again. “Don’t be embarrassed, Claire. We all have pet names for our loved ones…George has a quite a few for me!”

“Oh God.” Claire silently begged for Mrs. Grady to not continue with that sentence. Luckily, she moved on to the next question and Claire had a pretty god idea what Owen’s favourite food was. “Burgers.” She answered confidently, and was not disappointed.

“Bananas.” Owen said, barely able to contain his laughter. “She loves to eat Bananas. Big, ripe, yellow bananas.”

“Oh God.” Claire put her hand to her forehead, the memory of her last interaction with Mrs. Grady still too fresh on her mind. “Nope. No, uh, it’s cookies. Chocolate Chip cookies, actually.”

Owen hummed again. “Yeah, the crunchy ones. Big, hard ones. She really likes them hard…”

“Nope!” Claire called, shutting Owen up. Normally she would’ve scorned his sense of humor. But this time, it might just get them through this charade without anyone noticing how terrible they were with each other. “The soft ones. You know, nice and chewy? I need something I can really sink my teeth into.” She retorted. Two can play at this game.

The Grady’s got the message, and more or less let the two of them play it out from there on in. After which they discovered that given the choice between a loud night on the town or a quiet night on the couch, they both chose the couch. Owen’s answer at first surprised her, until he hinted that there was one particular activity he had in mind he’d like to do on said couch. Claire shot back that it was probably him making all that noise out on the town, anyway. Then they both guessed wrong when it came to their favourite movie genres, but no one seemed to notice since Owen insisted that she must in fact like Comedies, given her own obvious comedic talents. Claire said he must like horror if he makes jokes as bad as that one.

Mr. and Mrs. Grady seemed amused at least, so they weren’t paying much attention to the low score they were earning. Claire was almost getting comfortable, this back-and-forth with Owen finally something she felt familiar with, a role she could slip back into easily. And then it came time for the last question. It had taken Claire the longest time to finish, not because she was struggling to find her answer, but because she knew in her heart what it was and had to convince herself to write it down.

“What’s the first thing you’d grab if your house was on fire?” Mrs. Grady asked. The tone of the group flipped in a millisecond; Mrs. Grady was somber and quiet for the first time that night.

Owen sighed. “Her computer. Oh! Wait, no, her phone.”

Claire shook her head, dropping her eyes to her lap. Owen waited for her quip back at him, expecting her to be offended that he knew her as well as he thought he did. She spoke low, in a soft voice barely loud enough for Owen to hear.

“My father’s guitar.”

Owen turned quietly in his seat. She could feel his eyes on the side of her head, but she refused to look up to meet them. The truth behind her answer wasn’t something she was prepared to share. So instead, she took a guess at Owen’s.

“He’d probably save his motorcycle first.” Claire looked up, looking straight ahead to will away the urge to cry. Mrs. Grady snickered, glancing down at Owen’s card. Mr. Grady looked over at it and gave an approving nod. What could possibly be funny about this question? She turned halfway back to him. “What? What’s the first thing _you’d_ grab if your house was on fire?”

Owen straightened in his seat, full-blown grin spreading across his face. “Fire extinguisher.”

Claire rolled her eyes but couldn’t help her own bark of laughter escape her. Owen looked even more pleased with himself knowing he’d gotten a laugh out of Claire with that and settled easily back into his chair. There was an odd feeling in her chest, sandwiched somewhere between the sudden elation from Owen’s joke and the weight left behind by the memory of her father. Mrs. Grady set down their cards, clapping her hands as she stood up from her chair and pulled her husband with her.

“Alright, now you two question us!” She insisted, pushing their answer cards into Owen’s hands and shooing them out of their chairs. Claire stumbled, unsure in the feet she normally felt so confident in. She swapped seats with them, sitting herself in the chair next to Owen’s so close their elbows were brushing every few seconds. He looked down at her and gave a small, apologetic smile. As he handed her one of the question cards their fingers brushed for a moment before he finally looked away.

Claire was dreading hearing Owen’s parents’ answers so much her stomach was churning. She refused to read ahead any more than she needed to, just in case they’d shared something inappropriate, but to her luck they played it relatively tame. She still didn’t think for a second that Owen had handed her his father’s card by accident. Despite all of that, she couldn’t settle her stomach or her mind.

This was supposed to be the easy part. They’d gotten through the first half of the questionnaire together. Maybe they could get through the rest of this together. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, finding herself even closer to Owen in the move. With his parents’ eyes on her, she knew that somehow they had to make this work. But what if they couldn’t? What if everyone found out their big secret? When would someone notice just how different they were? Why would anyone think that the two of them would ever make a good couple? What did she have to do to convince everyone she was a good girlfriend for Owen Grady and win this weekend?

And, _God_ , why did she want this so bad?

“Alright, what’s your favourite thing to eat, Dad?” Owen asked halfway through the game, noticing Claire wasn’t paying much attention. She perked up when he spoke, glancing down to check his father’s answer card. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye and the bottom of his stomach gave out when he saw her flush full-faced red. “What?” He asked Claire as she tried to hide her face behind her hand. He gently put a hand on her arm, keeping it down so he could see the card, and his father’s answer to _"What’s your favourite thing to eat?"_

His father smirked. “Patricia,” he answered.

“Oh God.” Claire mumbled, eyes cast furiously down. His mother turned to playfully smack her husband, but showed no interest in trying to correct him. “Oh God.” Claire stood suddenly, letting Owen’s hand fall from her skin and the answer card fall to the floor. “I need-uh…I need a minute.”

Owen rose to his feet as Claire nearly bolted through the crowd, making a bee line for the bathrooms on the other side of the room. His parents watched her, too, and his mother put a hand to her heart. Before he could properly apologize, picking up their answer cards and trying to return them so he could follow her, his mother grabbed him by the arm and wouldn’t let go.

“Oh, dear, is she alright?”

“She’s fine, Ma. I really should-” Owen said, trying to pull his arm away. He had to stop her before she got away.

“It’s her stomach again, isn’t it?”

Owen froze, turning back to face his mother. “What?”

“Her stomach! You said she gets _upset_ when she travels, and I hope she isn’t still having _issues_.”

“Ma, no.” Owen said, internally pleading with someone, anyone, to invent a time machine so he could go back in time and stop himself from ever telling that lie to his mother in the first place.

“What’s going on?” Mr. Grady asked.

“Poor thing…it’s her bowels, George. Owen told me all about it.”

“Ma, stop!” Owen begged. “No I didn’t! Please! Please. Ma, you can’t talk about this, please.” He looked over his shoulder, half expecting Claire’s sudden return to coincide with his mother’s admission of his embarrassing lie. His heart was racing. Claire already hated him and couldn’t wait to escape. If she found out what he’d said to his mother…

His mother tried to argue, saying she was only trying to help and there was no harm in the truth.

“Ma, please.” Owen got down on his knee to be on the same level as his mother, grabbing both sides of her face with his hands and making her look into his eyes. “Ma, you gotta promise me you’ll stop talking about this, _please _. It’s a secret. Like I never said anything, okay?”__

__Once his mother agreed, Owen bid them a goodbye and followed Claire’s path through the room. It was hard to trace her path exactly through the mass of guests, but he knew the general direction she’d headed in and within a minute found himself face-to-face with the door to the Ladies’ bathroom._ _

__If Claire walked out on him now, it was all over._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while, but it's over twice my regular length. Hopefully it's worth it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Owen are ready to call it a night - and Owen will do anything to keep his mother away from Claire after his little lie. (Rehearsal Party - Part 3)

The party continued on around Owen. For twenty minutes, through a handful of tracks that pulled couples to the dance floor to sway in synchronized circles, he waited outside the Ladies’ room for Claire to emerge. He had a nice view of the room from where he stood. The bride and groom were busy on the other side of the room. There was a never-ending flow of people buzzing around them, most of which Owen had never seen. He couldn’t even draw the line between Groom’s side or Bride’s side with half of them, and wondered, beyond his parents and Claire, who he knew at this party. He had been Tom’s best friend years ago. But it seemed these days he’d been replaced. Tom never once looked Owen’s way or ever looked like he was missing out on anyone’s company.

At one point, after enough time had passed that Owen was starting to wonder if Claire had even gone inside the bathrooms at all, he stopped one of the women exiting the room to ask if she’d seen her.

“The woman with the red hair? Yeah, she’s the only one in there.” The woman said before walking away with a swish.

Owen glanced around. There was no one on the approach, so he took a chance and pushed open the bathroom door.

Claire was the only one inside, just like the woman had said. She was leaning up against the countertop taking deep breaths and staring her reflection dead in the eye.

“Claire?” He whispered, hearing his voice echo throughout the room. She jumped at the sound. To his sudden relief, she wasn’t crying. It was the first time the thought had consciously entered his mind. It’s not like he thought she would be – but he realized at the last second he’d have no idea what to do if she were. “What’s wrong?”

Claire was still staring at him ludicrously. “Nothing. I’m fine. What are you doing in here?”

Owen stepped inside the room, thankful to find a lock on the inside of the door that he slid shut so no one could interrupt them. “I came to check on you. You ran off like there was a prize at the finish line…”

“You didn’t need to do that,” she huffed. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“It’s already been twenty.”

“I’m just…not ready to go back out there yet, okay?” Claire leaned against the countertop once more, in the place where there might’ve already been worry-worn grooves from her hands if he’d left her there any longer. 

“Look, if this is about my parents…I’d like to say they aren’t normally like this…but I think we both know better than that.” Owen shifted his weight to his other foot, watching Claire stand perfectly still. “They mean well.”

“It’s not. It’s not them,” Claire sighed. With a wave of her hand she added, “I mean, they’re not helping. But it’s not them.”

Owen’s stomach settled a bit. It never ended well, bringing girls home to meet his parents. They were just too…strong…on their first impressions. His strict father, barking orders like he was still a lieutenant in the military and Owen was his dutiful soldier. And his mother, sharing every thought that passed through her mind like she’d never had a filter in her life. They’d softened over the years, but at their core they were still the same people who drove away every girl since the love of his ten-year-old life, Tracy Stewart, came over after school to play video games.

“Why did you bring me here?” Claire asked, peering out the side of her piercing green eyes.

Owen felt his heartbeat hammering behind his eyes. “I told you, my date bailed-”

“No, no, no.” Claire stopped him, turning with a click of her heel on the tile. “You could’ve asked any number of women on our island to be your real date to this wedding. So why did you bring _me_ here? As your _fake_ date?”

He felt her gaze boring holes into his brain. It was always those eyes. He laughed, an excuse to look to the side and stick his thumbs in his pockets. “I thought you could use a vacation.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! I mean, I guess I expected there to be a bit more down time…maybe time for a massage…but I thought…maybe…you could actually enjoy yourself. Forget about work for once. Have a little fun.” He rubbed his beard, waiting for her to look away.

After a long moment where Claire contemplated his answer, she sighed again. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to go back out there.”

“We don’t have to.” Owen glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late enough, we could go back to the room and no one would even notice.”

Claire trailed her eyes along the tiles in the floor back towards the counter. “You don’t mind?”

“Tomorrow’s the big day. We shouldn’t be worrying this much about tonight.” Owen shifted his shoulders, trying to flex some of the tension away. “Besides, I’m starting to feel like I don’t know anyone at this party. Let’s just call it a night.”

Claire straightened, breathing through her nose. Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his and a small smile appeared on her face. “Okay.” 

Owen waited for her to take the steps towards him and the door, crossing in front of the bank of mirrors on the wall. Claire turned, catching her reflection one last time to remind herself of the pep talk she’d been enforcing earlier. She kept her eyes on the mirrors all the way until she lost sight of herself at the door and exited back into the party with Owen, desperately reminding herself not to lose sight of anything else over this weekend.

“Oh, shoot.” Claire stopped in her tracks outside the bathroom door where, to their luck, no one had noticed them exit together. “I left my bag at the table.” She grimaced. “With your parents.”

“It’s fine! I can get it.” Owen offered instantly. The last thing he wanted was his mother to let it slip that Claire was supposedly having _bowel problems_. The easiest way to head that off was to keep them away from each other as much as possible.

“Are you sure?” Claire asked, not wanting to force him into anything. He insisted, and she watched him walk away back to the side of the room with the bar. She couldn’t face his parents again. Not after running off like that. They were nice enough people, but…they only proved to Claire that she and Owen were completely different people. That she didn’t fit together with him. She didn’t belong in his world.

Owen returned with her bag within a minute, handing it over to her, and explaining what else he’d been sent back with: their answer sheets from Couple’s Trivia. While they’d been away, his parents had gone to the effort of grading them. On the scale of _‘First Date’_ to _‘Happily Ever After’_ , they’d actually managed to land in the _'New Couple'_ category.

“Hey,” Claire caught Owen’s attention, drawing it down to their cards. “We didn’t do that bad!” She pointed out their score to him. Owen looked at it, more than a little impressed. 

“Well, we didn’t get the _lowest_ score.” Owen offered her a high five, and laughed with surprise that she actually took it.

“Heck yeah.” 

Owen smiled at her not-a-curse-word, looking over her shoulder onto the dance floor. Claire looked back down at the score card in disbelief. _They actually didn’t suck at this._ Who would’ve thought? It brought a sort of bubbly feeling to her chest she tried to ignore, but she let herself revel in it for just a moment anyway. She was a half-decent pretend girlfriend. Even as glad as she was, the thought of getting out of her dress and heels and into her comfy pajamas called out to her, beckoning her towards the door. Lord knows she’s been through longer, tougher days back on Isla Nublar in heels just like these. But today had been a brand new kind of exhausting, and one she couldn’t wait to bid goodnight. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Owen muttered under his breath. When she looked up, she found his gaze pointed somewhere out on the dance floor behind her, but she couldn’t pin point exactly where. His smile had completely fallen from his face, and had been replaced with something closer to anger. 

“What?”

“Nothing, let’s just go…”

“No, Owen,” Claire reached out to stop him. “What’s going on?”

With her hand on his arm, Owen turned back to her and nudged his chin towards the center of the dance floor. “That’s my ex out there. In the blue dress.”

Claire turned, scanning the dance floor for a blue dress, and finding it on a woman dancing tightly against her partner, wearing stiletto heels and thick eyeliner. Her heart unintentionally gave a flutter when she noticed, even under the warm light of the decorative tiki torches, the woman’s hair was a distinctly reddish blonde. This was someone Owen had dated?

“Wait…” Claire turned back to him, a question written on her face. “Not the ex who…” Claire pointed silently at the party they were attending, not yet willing to believe her own suspicion.

“Who ditched me for this wedding a week ago? Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Oh my God.” Claire turned to watch the woman again, still trying to wrap her head around it. It took her a moment before she realized she recognized the woman’s dance partner from earlier in the night. “Is she dancing with-?”

“The best man.” Owen spat. Claire couldn’t help a sharp gasp escape her, mouth agape. Owen’s entire face was tight. The lines in his forehead twitched, and he was practically breathing fire from his nostrils with every breath. But as if it weren’t bad enough already, she couldn’t help but see just the slightest hint of sadness behind his eyes. Sisterhood and pajamas be damned. This woman had crossed a line. 

“Oh fuck, she saw me.” Owen turned, trying to hide his face.

Claire clicked open her bag and quietly slid the answer cards inside. “Ask me to dance.”

“What?” Owen turned. He shook his head. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

“Owen,” Claire smiled, and spoke through her teeth. “If ever there was a perfect moment to have a _fake girlfriend_ at your disposal, I think we may have found it.”

He turned back to the dance floor, contemplating. Claire tried to play cool, like nothing planned at all was happening when he silently offered her a hand. She looked at him painting a happy look of shock on her face and taking his hand with a small laugh. He led her out onto the floor and she looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Her feet would just have to endure a few more minutes in these heels.

The music thumping through the speakers overhead was smooth, and had definitely drawn a more intimate vibe from the dancers than the more upbeat party songs they’d heard before. These beats were low and sexy and throbbed from the speakers. Owen brought her far enough into the crowd he figured they could be seen, but not close enough to his Ex to make it obvious. She brought her hands to Owen’s shoulders, feeling for the first time the solid muscles she’d seen at the beach. She shook the memory away as she felt his hands come to rest hesitantly on her waist. Every couple seconds, his eyes would dart over her shoulder, so she knew the other woman couldn’t be bothering to look their way.

_You’d better make this worth it._

“Lower.” She instructed. Owen’s eyes flew back to her and bulged from his head. She felt a finger give a twitch on her waist. “Are we trying to make this girl jealous or what? _Lower_.” Close enough to the heat of his skin to witness the tiny bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulped, his hands slid down the material of her dress until he had a palm rested fully on each of her butt cheeks. At the same time, he pulled her in close by sheer limitation of his reach, and his eyes finally locked onto her instead of the other woman. She inhaled sharply. “I want to state for the record that this is an exclusively one-time-only offer.” Claire said firmly. Owen nodded, but in a second she felt his hand give a small squeeze. Her body jolted and she gave him a light smack while trying to bite back her grin. “You cheeky son of a…”

Claire swung her hips in time with the beat, giving Owen something to follow. She crossed her wrists behind his neck but kept her hands loose. She let herself fall into the rhythm of the music, step into sync with the crowd around her, and allowed herself to believe for just this minute that she was here with Owen to have a good time and nothing more. That there were no ulterior motives or false pretenses that brought her here, to this resort and to this dance floor and held between Owen’s strong hands. She had his eyes on her this time, never wavering or relenting from her as they danced. Not once did he look away.

She grabbed one of his hands, and used his arm to twirl herself around, so that she was facing the rest of the dance floor, and backed up into him as her hips continued to twist back and forth with the music, until Owen leaned in so his breath was hot on her ear and she held his arm around her middle but far closer to her chest than he’d dared venture on his own, and she pursed her lips in the sexiest pout she could pull off that wasn’t for Owen to see.

By the time the music had slowed to a stop there were beads of sweat on Claire’s brow, and she extracted herself from his hold enough to take a breath. Other couples were slipping off the dance floor around them, taking a queue from the break in the music to rest, but they didn’t move from their spot. Owen still had his eyes on her, and even now the music had slowed to a lull, they remained. It wasn’t until someone on their way off the floor roughly bumped their shoulder against Claire’s that she even remembered why they’d been there in the first place. As she looked over at the figure who’d bumped her, she saw a flash of the blue dress from earlier and she knew the collision had been a purposeful one. The Ex and the Best Man strutted off, and she couldn’t help but smile at their victory.

Owen transitioned seamlessly into a slow dance as the next song kicked in, returning one hand to her waist and lifting his other into the air, loosely holding hers. They swayed silently to a song about a man wanting “just a kiss” from his girl, lamenting his woes about the miles in between them and contemplating the ways he could close the distance, even if just for the minute it would take to get his kiss. With half of the couples gone from the dance floor, the heat had relented just a bit, and the occasional air conditioned breeze swept across Claire’s hot skin. The only places that refused to cool were beneath Owen’s hands. It was the first time she’d really been able to feel his touch. They were undoubtedly working man’s hands, but not near as rough and calloused as she had imagined, and they radiated fire.

Leading her in circles of mock box steps, they wasted away the minutes until the lovedrunk singer came to the ultimate conclusion that if he did get to kiss his girl, then he’d never want to leave her side again. By then, the throbbing in Claire’s feet was entirely forgotten. Owen was the one to remind her of their plan to leave when he checked in with her after, and she nodded. “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator again that the airy feeling inside Claire had truly subsided. With the party still in full swing, the lobby and the elevator both had been empty. The doors shut with a light _ding_ as Owen gently pressed the button.

“You know I, uh…” He started, leaning casually against the wall. “I never did catch what your middle name was.”

Claire’s hand flexed around her purse, where the Trivia cards were still stored. “Oh! It’s…it’s Anne.”

Owen nodded, eyes on the floor tiles. “Anne. That’s nice. Claire Anne Dearing.”

When he’d finished rolling her name off of his tongue, a question came to her mind. “And what about you? Care to elaborate why spring is your favourite season? Because I still don’t get your answer.”

“Nature at its finest,” Owen shrugged. “You’ve got the leaves sprouting on all the trees, the flowers all going into bloom, the animals all building nests and burrows and dens…all in perfect timing with each other. Nobody told them to do that…you can’t control that kind of thing, or try to manage it…it just happens. Every year.” Claire’s mouth hung open a sliver as she ran over his words, trying to re-wire the part of her brain that was telling her Owen Grady would never say anything like that. It had been an entire night full of new information on Owen Grady, and she was having trouble reconciling it all with the man standing before her that she’d worked with for the last few years. Of all the things she thought she’d known about him before today, _compassionate, gentle_ , and _lovelorn_ were not among them. “And have you ever seen a baby bird? They’re the scruffiest lookin’ things ever, but they all start singing from the treetops, every spring. You should hear it sometime. All throughout the meadow. Sounds like music.”

“Is that why you insisted on living in that bungalow, out in the middle of the woods?”

“Guilty as charged,” Owen shrugged. “You only get one life, Claire. You gotta choose how you want to live it.”

As the doors opened and they stepped out, Owen glanced down the hallway, trying to remember which way they had to go. Their key cards were inside of Claire’s bag, but when he turned to get her attention, he found her still standing in the elevator. She seemed caught up in her own head and didn’t notice until Owen called her name. She produced a keycard for him, and handed it over.

“This way,” Owen said, leading her down the hall.

“I lied earlier.”

Owen turned, keeping step. “About what?”

“Chocolate chip cookies.” Claire cracked a smile. “I actually do prefer them crunchy. That’s how my Grandmother used to make them for me.”

“Mmm… Grandmas do make the best cookies, don’t they?”

Claire laughed despite herself. “Turns out I was the only one who liked them that way…even she preferred the soft ones. But…my dad made sure that she always made them special for me. Every time he took us out to visit her, there was always a plate of perfectly crunchy cookies waiting for me.”

Owen stared down the hallway as they walked. Something in Claire’s voice told him not to interrupt.

“My dad…he didn’t want to ‘ruin the magic’ for me…so he promised himself he’d never tell me. But I found out the truth after her funeral. You should have seen the look on his face when he found out…he said it had been his ‘big secret’ while I was growing up.”

They continued in silence, until their room number appeared and Owen opened the door for Claire, letting her inside first. There was something different about her tonight…after they’d danced. He’d never seen her look so….venerable…

The first thing Claire did was slip off her shoes. Even in the dim light of the single lamp illuminating the bedroom, he saw her shoulders relax once her feet hit the carpet. She dropped her purse on the bed, rolling her shoulders back and craning her neck to the side, trying to stretch it out. He could see his duffle bag, and the toiletry kit sitting right on top, but before he could begin the process of getting ready for bed, there was something that had worked its way up to his chest, and he just had to get it off.

After all, what felt like a weight to him might not feel so heavy to Claire.

“There’s a photo album. I keep it under my bed.” With nothing but the lamp to fill the room, it was hard to read the look on Claire’s face when she turned to him. He hovered near the door to the bathroom, unable to do much but speak softly. “It’s got a lot of pictures of friends in there…a lot who I haven’t seen in a long time. Some guys I served with in the Navy…some who never came back. I don’t uh…I don’t have any other copies of those photos. That album’s all I have. So, that’s, uh…that’s probably the first thing I’d save from a fire.”

They stared at each other making no sounds for a while, finding it easier to see once their eyes had adjusted to the dark and they could more clearly make out features in the other’s faces they hadn’t even seen in the light. Somewhere off in the hotel, a couple of voices bubbled out in drunken laughter and broke them from their trance. Owen turned, flipped on the bathroom light, and left Claire to pull the pins from her hair.

She heard the tap begin to run, and Owen brushing his teeth, so she trusted he’d stay in the bathroom long enough so that she could change out of her dress and into her pyjamas. The light still wasn’t very bright, but she’d packed her bag well enough that she could tell she was putting it back in the right spot once she had it neatly folded up. But something still felt out of place, and she took it out on the extraordinary amount of pillows piled up on the one bed in the room, setting them one by one down in piles on the floor. It helped her to relax, to put everything in its place. And when that was done she rested her feet on the bed, waiting for the night to finally be over and she could fall into a blissful sleep.

Over the sound of the running water, Claire heard a knock on the door. She got up from her position on the bed, padding softly on the carpet over to the door. As soon as she’d swung the door open she’d realized her mistake in not checking the peep hole first.

“Oh! Claire, dear, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Patricia smiled at her. Claire froze.

Owen didn’t hear a thing until he’d turned off the tap, spitting one last mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. As soon as he heard his mother’s voice he stepped out to see what was going on. Out in the hall, he could see both of his parents over Claire’s very tense shoulders, and she was gripping something small very tightly in her hand.

“…You shouldn’t be embarrassed dear, it happens to the best of us. Oh! Owen, there you are. I brought a little something up for Claire, to settle her stomach.” Claire turned slowly, pivoting on a single foot until he could see the distinct pink colour of the Pepto Bismol bottle in her hand. It was a travel size container he had to assume had come from the hotel gift shop. “Owen told us all about it, dear, don’t be embarrassed.”

“Did he now.” Claire was staring at him very plainly, dead in the eye and with an intensity he’d never witnessed before. To those unfamiliar with Claire, the look might have been brushed off as any number of things, indigestion included. But to someone who’d worked around this woman as long as Owen had, there was no mistaking the infamously feared Claire Dearing Murder Look ™.

“And count yourself lucky, dear, because it could be _much_ worse. Like when George and I flew to Cancun…”

“Oh…No My God.” Claire shut her eyes, trying desperately to cover her ears. “NO NO NO NO NO…”

Both Owen and his father tried to drown out Patricia’s voice, begging her to stop telling the story of her trip to Cancun _“spent on the Can”_ because they’d heard it far too many times already and they wanted to spare any new ears from being subjected to it.

“Patricia, let’s let the kids get to bed now, shall we?”

“Ma, we’ll see you in the morning, please, stop it with the story.”

“What? I’m only saying it could be worse!” Patricia pleaded with an innocent look on her face. George bid them a brief goodnight while he pulled his wife away, letting Claire finally shut the door on them.

Owen didn’t dare move a muscle. Not until he could gauge Claire’s reaction. When she finally straightened up and opened her eyes, she stared right at him with that same terrifying look.

“I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But,” Claire raised the pink bottle still held in her fist. “You will pay for this.”

She slammed the bottle down on the table as hard as she could, brushing by him back towards the bed, leaving him standing there dumbly with his wet toothbrush still in hand. She immediately began to grab pillows by the handful, returning them to the bed so she could pile them up in a line down the center of the mattress. Without a word, she climbed under the sheets on her side (and if anything, it was the larger side), shut the lamp off, and did her best to pretend that Owen, and the bathroom light, didn’t exist.

Owen rinsed out his toothbrush as quickly and quietly as he could, leaving it by the sink and turning out the light before he risked being told to. He almost feared disturbing her as he slid into bed, but he took his place and tried to think of how he’d managed to end what had actually seemed like a pretty good night with the Silent Treatment from behind a pillow wall.

And he just kept coming back to how much of an idiot he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for bearing with me! I'm glad I was finally able to post this chapter, as I've been working on it for a while. In my initial plan, Claire was supposed to be having a panic attack in the bathroom, and no matter how I worked it, it just felt out of character. After that, I've been working some more interest into my sub-plots so...those are my excuses and I'm sticking to them. I wanted to have this entire fic finished long before Fallen Kingdom came out...but I'll settle for having this new chapter out for now. :)
> 
> Thanks!  
> -GG


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has to brave the dreaded Wedding Ceremony, and Owen has to brave Claire's wrath over the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates- but I think I'm finally happy with this chapter. I've been planning other things, and I need to complete this fic before I can move on. Enjoy!

By the time Owen woke and dared to peek over the pillow wall that had been erected in between them, he found the other side of the bed empty. The bathroom, too, was void of Claire and only a quick glance towards her luggage, still sitting on the rack as he’d last seen it, could convince him that she hadn’t just left him there to survive the weekend by himself. He was trying to imagine where she could have gone with his barely-awake brain as he stumbled towards the curtains to draw in some light. With a scratch on his pyjama-clad ass (a formality he didn’t normally wear) he pulled the curtains aside, and was surprised by the sight of Claire, in a light robe and slightly damp hair drying in the breeze, sipping a large cup of coffee while curled up in a chair on the deck. She either didn’t notice him or, more likely, was pretending he didn’t exist.

He stepped back from the glass doors, wondering how she’d managed to both brew coffee and have a shower without waking him. Furthermore, he wondered why she wouldn’t take the opportunity to wake him from peaceful slumber for nothing more than petty revenge. By any means, he didn’t want to disturb her now. She was gazing, almost serenely, over the landscape that stretched out before the resort. The crystal blue waters of the pacific, the shimmering white sand, the sway of the palm trees in the breeze he could practically smell just by watching. She had the wedding itinerary and her wristwatch set on the small table beside her, so he let her be. Claire Dearing was the last person to be tardy and he trusted she’d keep an eye on the time.

He dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t holding onto as much resentment as he maybe deserved. If she’d truly been mad at him, wouldn’t she have shown it by now?

Upon turning back to the room, he quickly discovered why he hadn’t been woken by the smell of brewing coffee – Claire hadn’t brewed hers at all. A room service tray was set on desk, platters askew enough to show their contents had been emptied, and a napkin discarded that appeared to have pancake syrup on it. And on top of it all- the bill. All told, after an _extremely_ generous tip, the bill was over $100. And printed on the very bottom, “ _Charged to the card on file_ ”.

Charged to his card.

As if she’d been waiting for the moment he discovered her little splurge conveniently laid out for him, the glass doors slid open and Claire sauntered inside. Without looking at him once, she took the last sip from her coffee mug and set it down on the table with a bit more force than was technically necessary. With the bill still in his hand, he watched her pass by him and slither into the bathroom to start up the hair dryer. In the trash bin near his feet, he couldn’t help but notice the bottle of Pepto-Bismol his mother had brought her.

He had a feeling Claire wasn’t going to let that one go.

She didn’t speak to him at all, until the doors of the elevator opened onto the lobby, and an ornate sign bearing the names “Pickering & Marshall” greeted them. A delicate path of rose petals directed them down the hall, towards the excited hum of voices. It wasn’t long before the rose petals led them towards the entrance to a garden – filled with some of the most fragrant flowers that reached their noses before they even laid eyes on the ceremony space.

“Oh, crap.” Claire muttered under her breath. He turned, surprised to finally hear her speak. She glanced up at him and seemed to chastise herself for breaking her vow of silence. “I just realized I didn’t sign the card. Should I have? You know, since we aren’t…you know.”

“Relax. I don’t have a card.”

Claire stopped short on the path. He turned back to look at her as she grabbed loosely to his arm to pull him to the side of the hallway. “How could you not get a card?”

“The invite said no gifts…you know, because it’s a destination wedding and all…they said my _‘Presence was Present enough’_.” Owen whispered with a shrug. They were only steps away from the ceremony, and didn’t have much time to linger.

“You still have to bring a card!” Claire said, exasperated. She huffed. She made sure he stayed put, then peeked around the corner. “There’s a card box…” Claire groaned, backing away from the doorway. She looked back over to the other end of the lobby, towards the gift shop. “Come on,” She said, with another light hold on Owen’s arm to pull him along.

He went willingly enough along with her at her fast pace, heels clicking away on the lobby tiles. Her dress today was lighter than last night’s, with delicate yellow flowers decorating the skirt that flapped around her knees as she moved with expert speed across the room. Without knowing the dress code in advance, she’d worried about appearing too casual for the ceremony, but Owen was wearing a white button down with no jacket, so she hoped she was alright. She could only be thankful he’d chosen dark slacks instead of board shorts.

As soon as they passed through the glass doors of the gift shop, spinning racks of postcards and greeting cards were in their sight. Or, at least, in Claire’s sight. She beelined to the greeting cards, spinning the rack around until she found the ones with doves and cheesy wedding bells on them.

“Alright, you have a choice of three,” Claire announced as she rose to her feet, handing one of each card to Owen to decide.

“I don’t think this is really necessary.” Owen took the cards from her, looking them over. What could these cards say that he couldn’t simply say in person?

“It is an _expected courtesy_ , Owen Grady, and one that will get you estranged if you choose to forego.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked as he flipped open one of the cards to read the message on the inside.

“It means you’ll look like an ungrateful jerk.” Claire said, turning to the store clerk. “Have many people been buying these?” She gestured to the cards, and pointed towards the ceremony space for reference. _How obvious will it be that we bought the card at the last minute?_

“Oh, a few people.” The clerk said, without having to glance too long at the cards. Quietly, she added, “And they’ve all gone with the blue one.”

“Thank you!” Claire praised, pulling the blue card from Owen’s grip and tucking it back onto the rack. “Hurry up, pick one.”

“But I kinda liked that one.”

“Too bad.” Claire checked her watch. “And hurry up. We should already be seated by now.”

He seemed to pick one at random, returning the other one to the rack without even reading it. He placed it on the counter, balking at the eight dollar total that appeared on the register. Claire muttered under her breath that it wouldn’t have cost that much if he’d bought it in advance. One he’d scribbled in a brief congratulations with a pen on loan from the clerk, he offered it to Claire. Sighing at his brief note, she added, 

_Thank you for letting us be a part of this wonderful occasion._  
_We hope you never forget the joy you feel on this day,_  
_surrounded by your family and friends, and we wish you_  
_all the best on your next adventures as husband and wife._  
_Sincerely, Owen & Claire._

With a flourish for an ampersand, she finished her note and handed back the pen. “Let’s go!” She told Owen, after throwing a quick but genuine thank you to the store clerk, as Owen tried to seal the envelope as discretely as he could. They brought up the rear of the last pack of stragglers, following three or four couples into the space.

It was only once they’d finally passed through the doors that the sheer quantity of flowers really struck home. Not just the scent of them, but the sight. Overhead in hanging pots and on arches, springing from lush green bushes, and floating on the ponds on either side of the intricate system of pathways. And those were just the ones that seemed to be permanent fixtures of the space. In the couple’s colours, there were bouquets and scattered petals just about everywhere. Honestly, it was a little much. Weddings, in Claire’s opinion, were so tacky.

Claire pasted on a smile. A woman wearing a small headset in her ear greeted the line at the entrance, grinning sweetly and gesturing very visibly towards the card box centered on a pedestal. Each couple placed their card inside the box, then stepped forward to receive a lei from none other than Owen’s mother. She spotted them in line and waved. Claire tried not to cringe. Ahead of them, a man simply gave a shrug when greeted with the card box.

“Cards go right inside, sir.” The woman said through her smile.

“Didn’t bring a card. Do I just go in, then?”

“Oh! Well…right this way, then.” The woman’s smile faltered as the man passed her by to take his lei. Patricia made a bit of a face at him as he walked past. They were up next. Owen flashed the envelope, sliding it through the slot to join the others. The woman beamed her bleached white smile back at them. “Thank you!”

“Thank you,” Claire returned to the woman. _I told you_ , she wanted to say to Owen. But as the lei was placed over her head, Patricia was whispering in their ears. 

“Did you see that man? Who doesn’t bring a card to a wedding? Shameful. Who raised that boy?” Before Owen could stumble out a response, Patricia turned and closed the lid on the basket holding the leis. His face fell at the look of disdain his mother wore, all over a simple card. She wondered- just how much she’d saved his ass from the wrath of Mom. She tossed him a look to remind him that she hadn’t forgotten how mad she was at him before putting her smile back on for the crowd. “Well come now, come now, it’s time to take your seats!”

With a pat on her hip that made Claire jump, Patricia hurried them forward towards the sea of plain white folding chairs, already full of guests fanning themselves with programs. They really had just squeaked in, as only minutes after they settled the priest took his spot at the altar. The hum of the crowd died down instantly. Some light piano music filled the air from some hidden speaker. Then, one by one, girls with expensive hairdos destined to be wrecked by the island wind and humidity walked proudly down the aisle, followed by men in matching ties. Once the bridal parties had taken their places, they released the children.

The ring bearer looked absolutely miserable. He had to have been no older than five, and his face was red and puffy like he’d recently been crying. He stopped halfway down the aisle despite someone trying to wave him forward at the front, wiping his nose on his sleeve and tossing the ring pillow to the ground. The flower girl followed behind him, unaware of the delay, and her little toddler legs tripped right over the pillow. Her flouncy dress seemed to cushion the fall, but the basket of flower petals had fallen and spilled all of its contents in one single pile. Two adults swooped in to pluck both children from the aisle.

_“Oh my god…”_ Claire muttered under her breath. It was clear that the boy had been holding nothing more than decoy rings, as nobody paid too much mind to the discarded pillow. Not to mention the venue looked like a hundred flower girls had run through it already, so she just didn’t see the point of any of this.

Owen’s eyes were on the little flower girl being placed into her seat. The flower crown on her head was slipping forward into her eyes, and as she tried to push it out of the way it fell onto the ground, out of her reach. He let out a low chuckle and the tiniest _“Aww”_ that caused Claire to toss him a curious look. _“She’s so cute…”_ He whispered.

Claire was so distracted by Owen that she didn’t notice the bride had appeared. One second she was reminding herself she was still angry at him and he wasn’t allowed to be so _cute_ right now dammit, and the next was like a sucker punch to her gut.

She’d forgotten to prepare herself. This was always the worst part of weddings. A murmur of awe rippled through the crowd as the bride started down the aisle, escorted by her elderly father. She went at his pace, since he walked with a cane in one hand and his daughter’s hand in the other. There were tears in the corners of her eyes Claire could swear had appeared from nowhere, and she diverted her eyes to keep them from falling.

Owen, in turn, kept his eyes from landing on the groomsmen for too long. He still didn’t know any of their names and was trying to not to take it personally that Tom hadn’t introduced him to anyone. Try as he might to appreciate the ceremony for what it was, he couldn’t help but feel left out. 

When the couple finally said their _“I Do’s”_ , the whole crowd applauded their first kiss. As they all rose to applaud their exit, he threw a quick glance to check on Claire. Her face seemed to look rather flat, and he couldn’t see much of anything in her at all. But if he didn’t want to risk further inciting her fury, he would’ve guessed she’d been crying. As the newlyweds disappeared from view, she let out an audible sigh of relief. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Owen said to try to lift the mood.

Claire did not respond.

She was too busy thinking over the last day they’d already had, and running over tonight’s schedule in her mind. She had to keep herself distracted, or else she wasn’t sure what would happen. The role of (fake) loving girlfriend had to be maintained, and that meant she couldn’t get distracted. No matter how ever-present Patricia was, or how mildly intimidating George’s stare was, or quite simply how much of a terrible (fake) boyfriend Owen was being. Last night was a disaster. She hadn’t been more embarrassed than she was in that moment, standing at the door, for many long years. 

As they skirted back past the chairs, getting swept along with the crowd of guests all seeking shade, they passed under a trellis decorated with carved wooden hearts. The couples in line ahead of them all stopped to share a kiss before moving along, and Claire was stuck wondering what was taking everyone so long. As they finally passed through it themselves, she realized too late that this was not a walkway- it was a photo opportunity.

As they passed through the arch, Patricia gave a high pitched squeal. George stood beside her, looking on with his steeling blue gaze. Claire looked up at the arch, finding a sign reading _Kissing Arch_ right over their heads.

The pit of Claire’s stomach gave out. “Oh no…”

“Now, you two, give a kiss!” Patricia waved her hands at them to egg them on.

Owen seemed to be just now cluing into what was happening. Other guests were turning to look expectantly at them, and Patricia had her phone in hand, ready to capture the moment in a picture _forever_.

“No! No no no no no…” Claire stumbled over her brain as she stepped away from Owen and the arch, desperately searching for a reason why she wouldn’t kiss her fake boyfriend.

“Kiss!” Someone nearby cheered. There were a dozen sets of eyes on her…it was either kiss Owen, or come up with a reason not to _fast_.

That was when Owen jumped to her defense. “Ma, I don’t really think…”

“I should really get inside…”

“…not in front of everyone…

“…being in this heat…”

“…not much time…”

“…sunburn?” Claire said, unsure. 

Patricia wasn’t buying one word of it. “Oh! You two. Stop being so shy and kiss, already!” Patricia said, raising the phone and pointing the camera straight at them.

“I…I have a…a stomach bug…” Claire panicked. She gestured vaguely towards her middle. “I don’t…want to pass it along.” A handful of sympathetic looks were sent her way. The camera was lowered. 

Patricia put a hand to her heart as they stepped away. “Oh, you poor thing.” Owen looked at her. She refused to look at him.

She wasn’t going to hear the end of this any time soon. “No, no…really…” She quieted Mrs. Grady, promising her with her fake smile that they could all go back to normal and never speak of this again. “Really, it’s fine. It’s great. It’s fantastic. Thank you. It’s fine.”

_Damn it._

Owen waited a heartbeat after his mother had left them alone. “You have to admit, it’s a pretty good excuse.”

“This does not mean you are forgiven.”

Owen nodded.

But damn it, he was right.


End file.
